Don't Overthink It, Sweetie
by LittlePageAndBird
Summary: Some days are special. Some days are so, so blessed. Today is one of those days, and they're going to worship each other like all the stars are crumbling down around them. River survives the Library and after saving the Universe, she and her husband have the reunion they deserve. ... Otherwise known as the Doctor's first dream in Last Christmas.
1. Later

_You are always here to me. The perks of dreaming about a spouse that had haunted him perfectly for a millennium; he knew exactly what his River would think within this fantasy. It's the final untarnished detail, envisioning not just her but her thoughts; climbing inside her soul and living as her in a nightmare disguised as something beautiful. The pain is worsening; he's fading. Disappearing inside the dream; it's so comforting here. He never wants to wake up._

 _That's the whole point. Something inside him screams. Still, he retreats further into the memory of her until the pain stops. He should have known she'd be the thing that finally killed him-_

The desktop was nice. Not as garishly fairytale as the one he'd lived in with her parents, but this one was already growing on her. It looked a mile better without all the ivy _no don't think about that day now_ and there were chalkboards and rows and rows of books interspersed with artefacts, was that an original Maldaheid sword on the upstairs balcony?

 _Think about anything anything anything else CALM DOWN_

River's fingers tapped against the controls in time to her stuttering pulses as she forced herself to breathe through her nose.

The reunion had been somewhat patchy, given that as usual the Universe had wedged itself between them and pulling it out of mortal peril had taken priority over any first impulses _oh look I'm not dead and we finally look the same age, let's take our clothes off_. Buried in the threat of impending death was an unspoken promise between them; _later_. Every second that she'd survived today had been a second closer to this, and now the Doctor was dropping Clara off home among more unspoken words, _so we can be alone just you and I_

God, they did excel in the art of not saying things. But then, she supposed they didn't really have to, not when even after all this time apart all it had taken was a mere heavy glance between them, just before the Doctor had left with Clara, for River to know what was going to happen on his return. He'd been looking at her like that all day; caught between a sort of cautious elation that she was actually not dead and a wrenching frustration that they were far too busy saving the world to touch each other, to be properly reunited. _Later_.

She'd been sure to thank every god she could remember for the first three minutes of being left alone that a _later_ was something the Doctor wanted. She hadn't even been sure that he'd remember her name.

This day was one that should never have happened, and it was now on the cusp of slipping into a night that should never have happened, gifted to them by the Universe. This day was blessed. It was nothing to be afraid of.

Then the Tardis door clicked open, and she was trembling all over again. There was a chalkboard on the other side of the room with equations scrawled across it that she solved rhythmically in her head, stemming the roar of her pulses in her ears. Quiet, save the soft footfalls behind her; her body swayed dizzyingly with each one before a gentle pressure in the small of her back anchored her.

The Doctor leaned past her, _tease_ , to pull the handbrake, releasing them into the silky abyss of the vortex, and later wasn't later anymore. His hand slid from her back to her hip like a whisper, the other leaving the controls to settle on the other and he was finally, _finally_ holding her. How long it had been since he last had scarcely bore thinking about.

She thought _what sort of time do you call this_? might have broken the ice, but she was a little wary of puncturing the silence lest she scare him away like some sort of wild creature. She remembered how easily spooked he'd been in his last body, never quite accepting that touching her like this was something he was allowed to do; a shift of her hips, a quiet hum in her throat, and he'd spring away as if she'd screamed.

Tonight, though, it was she who was more wary. She couldn't recall a time when he'd been the one to reach out to her for anything more than a hand holding or a hug, other than the instance after her own death. He'd seldom refused her, but in hindsight she was terribly afraid that all of that was merely because the nature of their relationship had become an unavoidable fixed point for him the day he'd met her; or, worse, that that fateful day in question had led him on a three-hundred-year mission to ease his own guilt, letting her take him to bed because he had to – she had sacrificed her life for this, after all-

 _Stop being afraid_

"River?"

She shivered. He spoke her name like a lyric, drawn out and soft against her ear, and her eyes fell shut. Nothing was being sacrificed now, nothing was owed; yet here they were, and she intended to savour the freedom, the elation that flooded in with being free of the shackles of time. His fingers skittered uncertainly in the curve of her hip, and she knew that it was her move.

Drawing air into her lungs, she twisted around and when her eyes opened again she found an owlish, pale blue pair staring back at her. Oh, but she did love his eyes; ancient and kind and, now, just a little frightened. The knots in her stomach melted away, insignificant.

She tried willing herself to tell him that it was fine, that they didn't have to do this, but couldn't quite summon the words out of her throat. He was right here with her, not conjured up by a damned library computer or her own head, in mere minutes they could be skin to skin and damn it, she'd waited a _century_ to get here.

He'd waited a millennium. Now he was letting his gaze trail over every inch of her, as if wondering whether or not she was real. He still maintained a light grip on her hips – keeping her from fading, she briefly thought – thumbs just brushing her stomach. As she gazed down at his weathered hands, lined and rough with callouses, she suddenly felt like crying. He didn't seem to be faring much better, if the noticeable tremor in his fingertips was anything to go by. Which one of them was meant to be the strong one tonight?

River followed a spiralling urge to hold those new-old hands in hers, bringing his knuckles to her lips and dusting kisses along them as his eyes fell into hers, intrigued and afraid. "Don't overthink it, sweetie."

He tried desperately to obey her, not to drown in the magnitude of what it meant to have this woman before him again; not to sob out loud upon being blessed with the term of endearment he'd missed so very much. "Ok," he managed to whisper, hands twisting out of hers to skirt along the hem of her shirt. "I just…" His mouth faltered, unable to squash whatever this aching miasma of emotions contained into words.

"I know. Me too."

This had been building up from the moment they'd set eyes on each other again, a lit fuse burning surely between them. It was simmering now, almost, _almost_ at the point of no return. Just one more barrier to be broken.

"I don't know if I remember how to do this…" he managed hoarsely. His hands fell away and the air was somehow thicker with the absence of touch, the stupidly tiny space between them like smog.

She could see his pulses thumping in the hollow of his throat, feel his breath on her skin. She swallowed. "Do you want me to show you?"

The question had barely left her lips before it was being swallowed down with her surprised gasp, his lips crushing against hers.

If she'd had breath to spare, she would have laughed. Both pairs of hands bunched into useless fists at their sides for a stumbling moment, her caught off guard and him unsure and more than a little taken aback by his own bravery. But that hot spiral of need became their guiding light, binding them together; in one fluid movement her arms slid around his waist as his hands lifted to cradle her jaw, pressing her back firmly against the console.

She wished she could have drowned in him. The fizz of time energy burst along their lips and god, he smelled like honey, that same smell that she'd avoided washing her clothes and bed sheets to maintain. Her fingers curled into the fabric of that gorgeous jacket of his _softer than tweed_ , and his bruising kiss settled into a deep, lingering rhythm that seeped into the marrow of her bones.

He stayed close enough when they broke apart that all she'd have to do was lean forward ever so slightly to be kissing him again. She offered him a sunny, encouraging smile instead. "You seem to be doing just fine without my help."

His lips touched her forehead tenderly, murmuring against it. "I may need your help with the rest of tonight."

She felt a burst of flutters in her stomach. "Maybe we'd be more comfortable upstairs?"


	2. Taking Things Slow

There's screaming in his soul. _Wake up. You are dying. Wake up._

A dizzying pain as something prods at the edges of his mind. Digging for memories. One is pulled up to the surface, played before his closed eyes like an old movie. A fond memory to help him relax; to keep him dreaming of her as he's eaten.

 _She hurtles downstairs, clutching the open book to her chest._

 _The Doctor looks up at the almighty noise she makes. "Hi honey! What's-"_

 _"Virtually no libido?" she yelps, shoving the book under his nose. He squeaks, tugging at his collar, and River gawks at him with eyes like saucers. "Virtually no libido?!"_

 _"Now, River-"_

 _"Then what – what about all the times we've slept together? Is that why you're never the one seducing me?" She gasps. "Do you fake it?"_

 _"No – River, just, hang on."_

 _Bless her. She's still so young, so worried about impressing him. So obsessed with being everything he needs and not realising that she already is._

 _"So Time Lords never shagged each other?" she demands, not bothering to wait for an explanation._

 _He winces at the vulgarity. "Ah, well, yes we did, not that I'd phrase it that way, but – the thing is that our lifespans are roughly one hundred times that of humans. So, that means that the instinct to, ah, reproduce, is on average a hundred times lower. If we had the, um, urges that humans do, there would have been too many Time Lords to fit in the cosmos. So, just like humans are evolved to, uh, pass on their genes as much as possible during their incredibly short lifespans, Time Lords are naturally designed by nature to repress that need."_

 _She sets the book to one side to wring her hands. "So… why do you do it with me? Is…" She swallows. "Is this just more of you pacifying me, like you did when you married me?"_

 _He sighs through his nose. "No, River. It's difficult to explain-"_

 _"Try me." She sticks her nose in their air defiantly, crossing her arms._

 _"It's… it's different with us. Because we, we can't…" He waves a hand vaguely in mid-air, making her raise an impatient eyebrow. "Our genes aren't compatible," he finishes. "So the primal reason for doing – uh –" He rolled his eyes, suddenly seeming to remember that he was over a thousand years old. "For having sex, is irrelevant. See, with the Time Lords, because it was such a rare occasion, it was seen as a very significant event. It was savoured, celebrated, planned – nothing like the way most humans do it. It wasn't for a few minutes of pleasure, it was never spontaneous – because of Gallifreyan libido it was almost always with somebody you'd been with for a very long time. It was viewed as an act of devotion; worship, even, for each other. I know you know that Time Lords feel things differently to humans; we have the connection of minds as well as bodies, the fusing of our consciences. So we may not have had much of a sexual appetite, but we still found the act itself very, well, enjoyable; as an act of love, not one of lust."_

 _River blinked heavily, a bemused frown crinkling her forehead. "So is that how you view… us?"_

 _He nodded, a soft smile gracing his lips. "Of course. But with you, River, I get to have, well, the best of both worlds. So there's all the ceremony of the Gallifreyan lovemaking ritual, but much more often than, say, once every half-century." He bounced on his toes a little, giggling like a schoolboy with flushed cheeks. "And may I take this opportunity to say, it's very nice." He tilted his head to the side, smile fading a little at the edges. "Are you ok with that?" She gave him no answer, and his blush deepened. "I mean – I – that's not why I'm with you, no, I'm married to you because, well, you're brave and funny and kind and, do I have to list everything else? Because we could be here for a while-"_

 _"Oh, shut_ up _, you idiot."_

* * *

The memory burned in both their heads as they headed upstairs, River leading the Doctor by the hand, feeling his erratic pulses through her fingertips. _An_ _act of devotion; worship, even._

The anticipation had reached such a level that it was verging on dread. He'd grown so very used his thoughts of her being encased in guilt, when all he'd been left with was thoughts, and even now it was something he couldn't shake.

"Sweetie." River stopped just outside the door the Tardis had led them to, turning to slip a finger under his chin. Her thumb stroked along his cheek and he shuddered as _please tell me you know who I am_ screamed in his head. Why the hell didn't she hate him?

 _Just tell me. The Doctor: is he worth it?_

 _Yes._

"Are you sure?" he asked softly.

She smiled, and he felt some shadow within him lift. The corners of her lips curved into a perfect arc and god, he wanted to be kissing her. "Yes."

He reached behind her to open the door.

"Nice of her to make us a new room," River remarked, glancing around the unblemished walls and bare furniture; plush white sheets adorning the bed, crisp and cold. The whole room radiated that sort of feeling; new, teetering on the edge of unwelcoming, never before lived in. No reminders of their life together before this day, nothing to trigger a memory or raise a smile; the other person the only point of recognition between the four walls.

"Yeah." The Doctor kicked off his shoes, wandering over to the bed and perching on the end of it uneasily. His hands ran along the sheets, wrinkling them under his fingertips, and he wondered briefly if that was the point of the bedroom. Square one; a blank canvas on which to discover each other again, to make a plethora of new memories that would be untainted by secrets and spoilers.

Perfect. And he wasn't going to waste another second running away from this again.

River was interrupted by the weight of large hands closing around her hips, pulling her insistently towards the bed until she came to stand between the Doctor's legs. His soft hands ran over her curves, up and under her shirt to follow the dip of her waist, squeezing with gentle insistency.

She smiled down at him fondly as his hands swept up her back to press her closer to him, dancing her fingers along the slope of his neck. "Do you want this shirt to come off or not, sweetie?"

"Sorry." His hands drifted to the buttons, sliding them open on by one until the shirt fell open. Rather than slip it off her shoulders he left it to flutter loosely at her sides to press his nose into her stomach, his soft sigh warming the skin there. "I missed you," he mumbled against her, a needy raw edge to his voice that made her follow the urge to cradle his head tenderly in her hands. His nose trailed up to her sternum until it nudged the silky material of her bra, hands cupping her ribs and fingers spreading out to push her shirt back so that she could shrug out of it.

River took the brief moment that he pulled back to admire her through heavy-lidded eyes to sink down onto his lap, skirt riding up as she wrapped her legs around his waist. "Not as much as I missed you, my love."

He pressed his forehead to hers for the briefest of moments, throwing every aching thought of longing and burning affection across the psychic link that was enough to render her breathless upon pulling back. "Ok, you win," she conceded. "Hey, we can do that now, the psychic link. Nothing left to spoil."

He chuckled sweetly, reaching up to pull her hair out of its tie so that the golden tendrils tumbled onto her shoulders and whispering a promise. "Later."

He raked it gently through his hands, and the feather-light brush of his fingertips against her skin made her writhe above him. "That tickles."

His eyebrow quirked upwards, eyes glimmering with sudden amusement. "Does it now?"

Within moments she was lost in peals of laughter as his hands danced expertly across her, mapping out every freckle, every scar, every curve, relearning her skin like an ancient constellation with the tiny flexes each of his touches sent rippling through her.

Being River, she soon desired revenge; his hands closed around her wrists as she reached down to work his belt open. "Not yet," he told her lowly, blue eyes dark and melting.

She whinged impatiently in response, hooking her thumbs in his belt loops and tugging his hips to hers with insistence, breath reduced to sharp pants. "Please."

Her whimper made him shudder against her skin as he dipped his head forwards to lick a hot stripe up her neck, nipping at her pulse with just enough force to leave a stinging mark.

"Stop distracting me," she chastised feebly, arching her neck to give him better access. "It's almost as if you're… _ah_ … trying to postpone the main event. Are you nervous? Because if the rest of you is as talented as this new mouth, I tell you-"

He swallowed down her words with a hungry kiss, River quickly recovering from the surprise by nibbling hard along his bottom lip and sucking the swollen result into her mouth with a pleased hum. He cupped the back of her head with heavy palms to leave her gasping when he broke apart abruptly to regard her with a disdainful scowl, rubbing at his distended lip. "God, you know how to talk, River Song."

A dark shimmer pooled in her eyes, voice dropping to make his nerve ends buzz. "Shut me up, then, Doctor."

"Wait." The single word infuriated her in the most delicious ways, and she tried her best to drive him over the edge of patience by pressing her hips down against his. Yet again he fell short of fulfilling her wishes, hands dropping back to her waist and settling there as a resigned sigh passed his lips. "Slow down," he murmured sweetly, eyes lowering in an endearingly coy gesture. "I need this to be perfect."

"Well, sweetie, I'll try my best."

"No," he grumbled, pushing his nose into the valley between her breasts. "For you."

She pressed a firm kiss where his silvery curls met his forehead, raking them back reverently. "You don't have to try for perfection, my love," she assured him firmly. "It just is. It always has been."

"You don't know this body," he pointed out, the bashful words almost lost against her, and she swallowed down a burst of nerves. _No overthinking._

"Well, there's only one way to change that, isn't there?"

Without warning, she reached down between them to slip her hand beneath the waistband of his trousers and grasped hold of him firmly. He shifted his hips up against her with a pained groan, tugging her to him to press his face into her neck. " _River_."

"Oh, god…" She wriggled against him in a desperate attempt to quell the sudden flare of heat pooling where their bodies were fused together, her breathing harsh to match his, and smirked down at him. "Are you ok?"

A ragged whimper tore its way out of his throat. " _No_."

"Is this a first for this body?"

He managed a slow nod against her shoulder.

The admittance fired up a dizzying throb that made River's vision dissolve into inky black at the edges, and a wicked grin curled up her lips. "So this'll be the _second_ time I've taken your virginity…"

"Yes. Sooner than either of us would like, at this rate," he choked as her grip tightened on him, hot and pulsing irregularly in her palm.

"Oh, I won't complain." His whole body shuddered deliciously beneath her as she began an unhurried stroke, and she tugged on his hair until his head tipped back enough for her to see his eyes, predictably blown wide and more than enough to draw a guttural moan from her. "Let go, sweetie," she whispered, low and hot against the shell of his ear. His hand dragged from her hips to fist in the sheets tightly, mouth falling open and breath coming in sharp puffs beside her cheek.

She withdrew her hand without warning after making sure to work him right to the edge, leaving him teetering there and regarding her with a hilariously forlorn expression.

"What are you doing?" he wheezed desperately.

River's answer was to push him back onto the mattress, holding him there with firm hands on his shoulders and capturing him in a long and languid kiss. She swallowed down his soft grunt of frustration as she caught his own wandering hands in hers and pinned them behind his head, and as her hips ground down against his in torturous circles, the scratchy material of those ridiculous trousers burning against her thighs, the noise tailed off into a choked sob.

He tore his mouth away from River's to suck in a sharp breath, back arching off the bed to meet the increased the pressure of her hips. Her mouth pushed back against his, and the fierce nip of his teeth embedding themselves in her bottom lip was more than worth the coppery taste for the gratifying sensation of him losing control, pinned beneath her as he was. She kissed him unrelentingly through his zealous, writhing shivers as every fibre of him convulsed in endless waves, feet pushing against the floor to prolong the searing contact between their hips.

She fell with the Doctor as he sank limply into the mattress, heaving out a ragged sigh when she mercifully released his lips and letting his eyes fall shut. River relinquished her grip on his wrists to smooth her hands down his torso, skipping over still thrumming muscles and stilling over his staccato hearts.

"An experiment," she finally answered him with a sweet smile, watching his eyes snap open and darken all over again when he picked up on the noticeably husky edge to her voice. "And the results are _very_ pleasing." She propped her arms on his chest, pillowing her chin on her forearm and gazing up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "I didn't realise I had such a hold over you, Doctor; that I could bring you over the edge with a single kiss…"

He huffed petulantly. "That's not _strictly_ true, is it, you… mmf." Her lips were sliding against his again, warm and soft and making all other coherent thought trail into thin air.

"I'm never letting you forget this," River breathed between kisses, a devilishly giddy grin lighting up her flushed face. "I hope you realise that."

"Oh, I do. You're a very bad woman." He shifted uncomfortably underneath her, realising full well that any instances of even chaste kisses from his wife in the future would bring this very memory flooding back, and more; she would most certainly apply that knowledge to the sole purpose of causing him embarrassment, which incidentally happened to be at a peak in this particular moment.

"Uh… sorry," he tried gruffly, vision still swimming in luminous colours and nerve endings continuing to suffer aching vibrations wherever his wife was pressed to him. "That wasn't… the plan that I had in mind, for tonight, per se…"

"Ah, what fun are plans?" she dismissed with a light chuckle, kissing his scrunched nose. "I much prefer spontaneity. But if you had a plan, I suppose it would be an awful shame to let it go to waste…"

He scoffed as she pulled him back up by his shirt collars. "Whoa, sweetheart, I'm not made of the stuff. Give me a minute."

River arched an eyebrow, trailing a light finger down his chest. "A minute…"

He hummed, pressing tender kisses along her jaw. "Any ideas on how to put that minute to good use, Prof Song?" he murmured against her thumping pulse.

Almost the instant they met each other's eyes with the very same idea in mind, manic grins split across both of their faces. River scrambled off his lap and pulled him to his feet with her, keeping her heavy eyes in his as she shimmied out of her skirt and his fingers made light work of his shirt buttons, shrugging the already shamefully damp and creased material off his shoulders and balling it up to hurl it across the room. It joined River's discarded skirt to form the beginning of a haphazard pile at the end of the bed, and he stopped to drink in the vision of his wife; chest heaving, hair defying the laws of physics, a blush along her cheeks and nose.

"Forty seconds," she warned him breathlessly, starting them back into action as she reached around to unhook her bra and he turned his attention to his socks, balancing precariously on one leg and attempting to lift his foot to waist height.

River, far ahead in the undressing ritual, had stopped to watch him hop around the room with hands propped on her bare hips and head tilted condescendingly to one side. "My ever graceful lover…"

"Shut up," he muttered, staggering back onto the bed in defeat and reaching down to peel off the socks that he could have sworn weren't so alarmingly vivid that morning as they seemed now.

"Just leave them on!"

"No! They're thermal, my feet will get hot!"

"Oh, for god's sake, you're such an idiot!"

Finally barefoot, he lifted his head with the intention of using the full force of his attack eyebrows in a menacing glare. But no sooner had he looked up than the vision of his wife, utterly shed of clothes, flooded into every corner of his being. His hands pressed into the mattress to ease the onset of dizziness, eyes trailing over her helplessly while a shuddering hot sensation pooled low in his stomach.

He'd spent all his travelling life searching for perfection, often in the belief that it was a non-existent entity. His first night with her, oh so many years ago now but still imprinted firmly into the fabric of his mind, had proven him wrong and ended his search. He realised as perfection stood before him, squashed into 5 feet 8 inches of divine curves encased in golden skin, that he'd almost allowed himself to forget everything _River_.

If the grin on his wife's face was anything to go by, she knew all of that more than he did. Nevertheless, she stepped close to him until the warmth of her skin could be felt against his, smoothing the backs of her fingers over his cheek.

"You are _so_ beautiful," he murmured, nuzzling into her touch and doing what he considered quite an impressive job of meeting her gaze considering what was currently on offer at eye level.

"You're still an idiot," she repeated softly, this time with all the reverence of an esteemed title.

"Well, I've been one for two thousand years; I can't just turn it off."

River chuckled. Her hot hands danced along the waistband of his increasingly tight trousers as his settled on her ribs, fingertips rubbing along the ridges in fascination. "I'd suggest you take these off before you do any more damage to them," his wife muttered, flexing under his touch and pulling at his belt.

"Do you like them? They're new. Well, they're not now, I suppose. I wasn't sure about them at first, but they've grown on me."

"Eloquent choice of words, dear," River smirked haughtily. "Are you sure it was the trousers doing the growing?"

"Stop it," he scolded, lifting his hips off the bed to aid River's now edging on frantic attempt to rid him of them. "You, making everything dirty."

"Oh, because having a, as the French call it, little death with your half-naked wife grinding on your lap, that's usually such a sweet and innocent gesture, is it?" she asked between catches of breath, sinking to her knees to ease the trousers down his legs and slipping them off to sit atop their pile of clothes. "No, you're right, dry-humping is a beautiful lost art."

He lifted River lightly back to her feet with strong hands slipped under her elbows, pulling them back to smooth them down her stomach in sweeping circles. "Is that a French expression, too? They have such a way with words."

Her low chuckle tailed off into a gasp as he gave into temptation; his fingertips stopped their skittish wandering across her skin and ghosted along the outline of a breast, thumb sweeping over the soft mound of flesh and making the skin pucker beneath it.

"This new body…" River breathed, biting down on her lip as she raked sharp fingernails down his chest in retaliation. He swallowed back a barely contained groan, kneading at her breast until those nails bit painfully into his skin and her next exhalation trailed off into a whimper above him that did anything but cause his ache to subside. "It's like unwrapping a Christmas present."

"Well, that's open to interpretation," the Doctor grumbled, leaving a trail of barely-there kisses along the underside of her other breast. "As in like a new bike, or like… a tangerine?" he hedged cautiously, the mumble almost lost against her heaving chest.

"Oh, _definitely_ a bike, sweetie…" She cupped the back of his head, pushing his nose into her skin. "I promise not to make any riding puns."

"I think that's best for everyone." Taking the hint, he latched his mouth over her breast, running the flat of his tongue over her nipple and sucking it gently between his teeth.

River soon grew impatient with his worshipping, wrenching his head up with a pitchy moan and crashing her lips to his, pushing his legs apart with her knee to sweep impossibly closer until his chest was crushed against hers.

"Wait," the Doctor panted into her mouth when her knees buckled, wrapping his arms snugly around her waist to keep her up and grinning at her exasperated whinge.

"Doctor," she hissed through gritted teeth. "This taking it slow thing doesn't work when you're already naked and one orgasm down."

"I'm sorry, do you make the rules?"

"I make more rules than you," she snorted, jutting out her bottom lip to blow a damp curl from her forehead.

"You wish."

"Don't kid yourself, sweetie."

He bowed his head in surrender, kissing the underside of each breast lightly. "Ok, dear, you're Ruler of the Universe."

"That's right." She skirted around him to clamber onto the bed, draping herself across it and propping herself up on her elbows to grin at him when his eyes followed her keenly. "And I have but one night, oh handsome stranger, before I must embark on my journey to the next galaxy and continue my quest for peace and justice."

The shift in her voice made a dopey grin knock his face awry. "Role-play now? We're really pulling out all the stops, aren't we?"

"Anything for you, honey," River replied in a tone not far from a growl as the Doctor crawled after her, hovering above her on all fours. She gripped his arms, trailing a foot down the back of his calf. "Now, that's better. _Almost_ exactly where I want you…"

"I know full well where you want me." He peppered open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, trailing his lips down her neck. "What part of _taking it slow_ are you failing to understand?"

"The slow part."

He threw her a glare, nipping at her collarbone and pausing just long enough to murmur a vague explanation before his tongue darted out to taste the little hollow above it. "I want to take my time here."

" _Why_? I know it's been a while, but you do remember how good – actually, scrap good – how bloody _brilliant_ sex with me is?" she asked the ceiling, eyes already glazed over.

"I remember it very well, thank you." He shifted down to brush his lips along the valley between her breasts, tongue darting out too briefly to trace the swells on each side. He didn't linger there, ignoring her bitten off moan as he travelled further still. "I remember every moment with you, River Song. Oh, I can't believe you're here." Kisses were mapped down her ribs every time they swelled with breath. "You're here… and…" He swirled his tongue around her navel, "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever known, and…" His teeth fastened on her hip, nipping at it until a faint mark was left behind and she was quivering restlessly beneath him. "I never want this to end." He moved her thighs apart with his hands, settling between them and smoothing his fingers up the insides until she was writhing under his touch. "Hence the taking…" He pressed a kiss to the crease of her thigh, "things…" his breath just barely ghosted over her centre as he moved to her other thigh and left a matching kiss there, glancing up briefly to drink in her achingly desperate gaze. "…Slow." The word was drawn out in a whisper, and he indulged himself in staying perfectly still for a moment that allowed her to grow almost comically frustrated, aiming a feral growl in his direction that he chuckled softly at before blessedly surrendering to the impatient shifting of her hips. Everything in River swayed to him as his tongue glided against her, her taste bursting across his tongue to set nerve endings afire that had been dormant for boundless time. Her fingers knitted tightly in his curls in an instant, pulling and pushing at the same time and making him briefly wonder whether she was going to yank his hair out at the roots before rapidly deciding that he didn't care.

His hearts ached for her along with everything else, because within seconds she was spiralling rapidly into a descent of lost control and the realisation dawned on him that her earlier poise had been no more than a front for a craving just as unrestricted as his; now that she had him here, she squirmed with a kind of maddened zeal underneath him to the point that it was difficult to keep his mouth against her. Pinning her hips down didn't work, so with an impatient grunt he slipped his hands under her knees to hook her legs over his shoulders. Anchored, her entire body seemed to grip him; her soft, keening moans sounded worlds away but became the centre of his purpose, quickly grasping the old art of tuning himself into her noises to carry her over the edge.

He felt River's toes curl against his shoulder blades, her deep shudder seeping into his bones.

She pressed her hips up against him, thighs like a vice around his neck, and he was sure that his respiratory bypass system hadn't evolved for things like _this_ but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to take full advantage of it now. He offered her no respite, pushing his tongue inside her until she was throbbing and clenching around him and every sensation he possessed was drowning in her. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes because this was what was missing, what he'd been born into this body lacking; a desolate space within him that no amount of reckless running could ever fill or soothe. In this very instant – absurdly, pathetically, shamefully – he felt more whole than he had in centuries. He was grounded, here, if nowhere else in all of space and time; everything could and _had_ changed, a billion stars and planets and civilisations had ripped themselves apart in the time away from her and yet she remained the same, the fixed point in a tangle of flux, the only thing to hold onto in an abyss of endless empty space.

The burn to make known to her what she was to him had him pushing against her with fresh vigour, and shifting his mouth to lavish attention on her most sensitive point had her feet sliding helplessly against his back and tore guttural sobs from her throat. His stifled groan sent vibrations rattling through her and she was undone, arching off the bed so that his hands could sweep up her back and pull her up. She curled herself around him; stomach pressed into his forehead, cradling him to her as unending tremors seized her with each gentle press of his tongue. Each ragged moan was buried against his hair, the symphony tailing off into murmured whimpers and trembling gasps as he brought her from her high, and then all of those taut muscles holding him in place softly melted until he was holding to him a shaking, breathless River who seemed so much smaller than moments before.

Free to draw in oxygen for the first time in minutes, the heady fog casting a dizzying haze across his mind cleared enough for him to observe that she was unusually hushed. The first thing he'd learned about River Song in bedroom context – even before that, if terrible puns in front of her parents were to be counted – she'd never been one for keeping quiet. Suddenly very aware of his position but not quite feeling brave enough to lift his head, the Doctor traced little soothing circles to the insides of her thighs, leaving light kisses in the wake of his fingers.

His wife gradually unfurled herself enough to allow him to glance up. She swept down to kiss the bridge of his nose, and he cradled her as her tears dripped onto his forehead.


	3. Perfect Painkiller

He would have asked if she was alright but her lips were suddenly against his, fingers scrambling desperately for purchase on his shoulders to pull him over her.

His lips chased the tears from her cheeks as he let his full weight sink onto her, feeling suddenly heavy. River's name cascaded from him in a soothing chant even as she rolled them, barely leaving him enough time to scramble up to the headboard before she settled over him and sunk down, eyes rolling back into her head as they fused together. Supported by his hands on her hips, her hands were free to relinquish their iron grip on his shoulders to sweep up his neck and cradle his jaw, thumbs ghosting over his cheeks as she urgently rocked her hips.

Her tears hadn't relented, thick enough in her throat to leave every gasp and moan trailing into a sob; he'd never have thought in a thousand years that she'd be the first one to lose her composure tonight, though he wasn't far behind her. When she rose up over him again his hands swept up her back and pulled her against his chest, stilling her movements. Her gasp was caught up in a strangled sob that he swallowed down with delicate kisses, like whispers against her brow, lips, tear-streaked cheeks and swollen eyelids. "Don't overthink it, sweetie," he whispered, blessedly making her laugh, and the little joyful flutter as the sensation echoed in his own mind was enough to send a pulse of shock through him, fingers digging into her shoulder blades.

He'd forgotten what it felt like to share one's mind. Given their natural telepathy, their minds had always reached blindly for each other whenever they'd found themselves here; each time they'd been forced, with reluctance bordering on pain, to construct a mental block. They'd exchanged glimmers, brief glimpses of what the other felt, or wished the other to feel; they'd throw flashes of comfort to each other in times of mourning, threads of affection would spin through one's mind when the other sensed they were feeling alone. He'd often pay for a tactless comment by having a screaming hot blaze of anger burst in his head, and River would give him a sly smile from her place across the room.

But this time, for the first time, he let the walls around his mind fall away and River's consciousness swept over him, her sensations wrapping around his until their souls leapt together and burst.

It ebbed away all too soon, the scorching warmth still cradling them as the light faded and he was left with River's only thought whispering against the walls of his mind: _I love you, I love you, I love you_.

When his eyes next flickered open they were met with a view of the bedroom ceiling, permeated by his wife's manic curls; they'd slumped into a position just good enough to fall asleep in, thrown across the pillows with their limbs intertwined beyond salvage. River was curled into his side, head a comfortably heavy weight over his hearts.

His whisper was tight against her shoulder. "Never leave me again."

"I wouldn't dream of it, sweetie."

* * *

The Doctor had the privilege of awaking first, to the warmth of his wife's still-sleeping form curled snugly into his side.

Wriggling onto his side, he lifted the curl strewn across River's forehead with his fingertips and folded it behind her ear, allowing his thumb to trace a light path through the flush along her cheeks. Her eyelids fluttered at that, and when he grew entranced in the act of smoothing the bump in her nose with his little finger her forehead puckered in sleepy confusion.

He shushed her drowsy mumble caught between greeting and protest, wriggling closer to leave a trail of feathery kisses along her bottom lip. She was barely awake enough to reciprocate, but somehow managed to push and prod at his shoulder impatiently until he rolled onto his back and she could pillow her head on his chest with a pleased hum.

He nestled his nose in her curls, resigning to let her drift back into a deep slumber.

It was another hour and a half before she stirred again; he'd eventually managed to slip out from under her to tiptoe down to the kitchen, and when he returned with a steaming cup of her favourite tea she was lying awake with half her face still flushed from its resting place on the pillow.

He held up the mug awkwardly. "Uh… tea," he stumbled, wincing at his own lack of ability to string together a sentence.

"Ooh, thanking you." The sheets that River was enveloped in slipped down to her waist as she shifted up onto the pillows, and some idiotic reflex caused him to tear his eyes away, feeling irrationally as if all the newly exposed skin, flushed and golden with a soft sheen from a warm night of sleep, wasn't his to gaze upon.

"What are you blushing at?" she asked brightly, curling her hands around the mug and eyes narrowing suddenly. "What did you put in the tea?"

"What? Nothing!" he exclaimed, rubbing at his cheeks as if he could dispel the warmth in them that way. "Just one sugar and a splash of milk, as you like it. Oh, and a dash of Red Berima, I happened to have some in the cupboard." Lie. It had taken four attempts at visiting the Bazaar where River had originally discovered her favourite tea spice before he'd managed to find a packet, and she still hadn't bloody woken up on his return.

Her pale green eyes studied him pensively, and as she took a slow sip he noticed the smile that she tried to conceal against the mug.

"What?" he questioned gruffly, smoothing out the covers draped across her legs.

River's little pleased hum made a spiral of heat curl low in his stomach. "You remembered."

The Doctor shrugged, leaning past her to fluff the pillows behind her head so that his words were murmured against her hair. "I told you I remembered everything."

"Yes you did." And then she was kissing him, one hand still firmly clutching her tea as the other curled around the back of his neck. The taste of sugar and milk was on her lips, the gorgeous spice of Red Berima blooming on her tongue.

She stayed close even when they broke apart, sliding her nose alongside his with a coquettish smile. Her head dipped to press kisses along the slope of his shoulder; one, two, three, before he slid his finger under her chin to bring her back.

"Are you… ok?"

"No." She pulled back to kiss the calloused pad of his finger lightly. "I'm _amazing_."

He bopped the tip of her nose, sighing softly. "So, you… I mean, I was wondering if… last night was… enjoyable, for you."

Her snort of laughter made him scowl, and he picked at the sheets as if encouraging them to swallow him up before he made any more of a fool of himself. "No, honey, I was screaming because I was exceedingly underwhelmed by the whole thing."

"Could we not do sarcasm right now?"

"Why?" River asked softly, leaving feathery kisses along his brow. "Feeling insecure?"

"Well." Any other words he'd been planning to stumble over faltered in his throat as his wife's free hand roamed his chest, slipping under his jacket to cup his protruding ribs. He couldn't help thinking how they must have looked to her last night, coated in the wizened, pasty skin of this regeneration, and the thought made him wince.

"Why are you dressed?" she huffed, jutting out her bottom lip.

He managed a wry smile. "It's cold in the kitchen."

Her little finger traced the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and his hearts knocked against his ribs as he watched her smile fade at the edges. "Is something wrong, my love?"

He bit back an audible sigh of relief, knowing that the fade was out of concern rather than the same disdain he felt whenever he caught sight of his weathered face in a mirror. "No."

He could never fool her, and felt foolish himself for even trying. River leaned into him until her nose was pressed against the hollow of his throat. "Mmm. You're beautiful." The words made his hearts flutter, despite his knowing that that was the exact purpose for which she'd spoken them. She kissed his Adam's apple lightly as it bobbed, and he felt her grin. "And you're _really_ good in bed."

"Stop it."

"Make me."

His laughter was so strangled that it bordered on pain, head resting against hers when it grew heavy with the memory that those two words brought. "Haven't we come a long way?" he mused quietly, hands detaching themselves from his inhibition to smooth over her delicious exposed curves.

"That we have, husband." That word, that one tiny, ordinary little word, slipped under his soul and lifted it within him until he felt he was floating. River finished her tea in three long gulps, setting the mug aside to trace her fingers over his weathered knuckles. "Come back to bed."

He'd barely shed his jacket and shoes and settled under the covers on his side before his wife's naked form was pressing on top of him, her bare toes dancing up his trouser legs as her fingers nimbly worked his shirt buttons. "What are you doing?" he asked quietly, eyeing her warily as she spread the fabric open with a triumphant grin.

"Isn't it obvious, honey? You're wearing too many clothes for my liking." River dipped her head suddenly to carve a path of open-mouthed kisses down his chest, but he slipped a finger under her chin before she could reach his stomach.

The same finger bopped her nose to erase the playful scowl she threw at him for stopping her in her tracks. "We should talk."

River propped herself up, hands splaying across his ribs. "That sounds ominous."

He waved a hand above her airily. "Everything sounds ominous in this voice. I just thought, seeing as we didn't get much of a chance to catch up properly yesterday."

His wife flashed him a shark-like grin. "I think the way we caught up yesterday was _very_ proper, actually."

He huffed. "You know what I mean; with our mouths. No, not – no, stop laughing! With words, we didn't catch up with words," he finally managed, glaring at River who was at this point stifling snorts of laughter against his chest.

"Are you sure you're capable of the words, sweetie?"

"Shut up. Come up here."

She was very deliberate in sliding up his body as close as the laws of physics would allow, smirking triumphantly as she finally settled at his side with her arm wrapped tightly around his waist. He turned to bring them face-to-face, a hand settling lightly on the apple of her cheek. "We know all of the facts," he started, hushed as if there was a chance they weren't utterly alone in deep space. "We've seen our entire life together play out before us, and come out on the other side. So you know now how I met you, what I knew, what I could never tell you. You know how long it's been for me, and I know the same about you. There are no more spoilers left. So my question is… how do you feel?"

River smiled softly, but as he was close enough to her eyes to see the individual flecks of emerald interspersed with gold he easily noticed the cloud that passed across them. "No more spoilers left. Do you know what that means? No reason to lie; no reason to keep secrets; nothing to hide. We can finally do this properly." She sounded so very relieved that it made him wonder how often she had wished for this, a normal relationship – by their standards, if not by anyone else's. "Even the thought of that makes me feel happier than I ever thought I would. But the rest of it…" she sighed. "You had to live with the knowledge of the Library every single day of our life together; and then for a thousand years afterwards. And that kills me." He found her hand, clutching it against his when her voice wavered. "I'm ok, it's just… how _awful_ that must have been for you, and you still managed to smile at me every day. I haven't the faintest idea how you did that. I always thought I was the one who was good at hiding the damage." She paused and he squeezed her hand gently, wanting to listen to her until the stars burned out. Having such candour pour from his wife had been a rare treasure before now, and he was determined to savour it. "And then you go for an entire millennium believing I'm dead and gone… yet here I am now, and you want to be with me again. Like that time was nothing. So I suppose I feel a bit shocked… and incredibly guilty. But I'm happier than I've been in a long time," she concluded with a weak smile.

He felt his stomach twisting between them, and tugged her closer to abate it. "You shouldn't be shocked. You wouldn't be, not if you'd known how I felt about you; if I'd told you back then properly. That's my fault."

"No, my love, it isn't," she answered easily, and it was shockingly comforting to know that she meant the words rather than just using them to bury damage down further. "I did know. It's just that… looking back on our lives, and knowing that you knew what you did, part of me these past years has thought… maybe it was out of obligation. Maybe you did everything you did for me because you knew you had to; you'd already seen it, at the Library, so it was fixed. Written in stone."

The phrase made his nerves curl around his bones. He kissed River's brow lightly, conjuring up the right words in his head; they were already somewhere in there, stored away in the valley of things he'd always wished he'd told her and now resolved he would. "I spent years running from you after the Library. I stopped running not because I felt I had to, but because I wanted to. You made me want to. I was with you in spite of the Library; never because of it."

"I know that now."

He smiled, relieved, rubbing circles into her shoulder. "And now… I'm just with you."

"Oh, you're looking for a relationship? I thought this was just a one-night thing." She giggled, kissing the corner of his mouth. "How do _you_ feel?"

"I feel very, very, very lucky."

"I should think so. Can we do my thing now?"

"Your thing is?"

"Really spectacular morning sex."

He huffed out a sigh, a considerably difficult task given that River had already wriggled on top of him with her hands pinning his shoulders. "If you insist."

His wife's soft kisses against his temple soothed the sharp pain there, just as they were designed to. Funny, how easily a dream could be believed with the memory of River so perfectly preserved in his mind; he'd even conjured up a back story from her perspective, complete with stupidly domestic and trivial details, despite her being no more than a memory. He'd even visualised her thought process. The shocking closeness to reality, to what could have been but never would, made him ache almost as much as the pain of having his brain devoured. The literal dream scenario, conjured up by the creature currently eating into his skull.

His perfect painkiller gazed at him sadly. "You're going to have to wake up sometime, sweetie."

One thing no Dream Crab could have anticipated; he'd built her up so perfectly that even as a dream she was doing what she'd always done. Trying to save him.

"Not yet," he murmured, pulling her close to bury his nose in the hollow of her neck as the fantasy began to slip away from him. "Not yet."


End file.
